“You'll get the next one.” The glasses clinked, and each man enjoyed a sip of the sugary drinks.

“At least you're confident. I'll give you that.”

“At least?” He leaned in with overdone shock as his right hand, free from holding the cocktail, swept in feigned indignation over his own chest.

“You know that's not what I meant Ma, Mas-”

“I told you I to call me Max.”

“You're awfully kind, see, we don't have much of these foreign names on Dalton island.” The Northpointian exasperated needlessly before taking a long draw from his pineapple concoction.

“I know John, you've got to brush up on these local names though eh? You don't want to end up like one of those old bastards over there do you?” Max pointed out two older men, engaged in a conversation that was inaudible over the dance floor rhythms that tried to overwhelm any attempt at communication.

The men could've been from anywhere, to John they could have passed for locals, but they were old, and he supposed that was enough to make Max's point. “I certainly do not, but I've only been here for three months you see. I haven't had all the time in the world to get accustomed yet, what with them riding us hard at the office and all.”

“That slow, are you?” Max gave him a soft kick under the table. “If you're going to spend the rest of your time here then it's not going to get much better.”

The Northpontian understood he wasn't talking about this specific bar. “Well I'm sure you know the company says we're not to go unless we have a reason and a permit to do so.” Although John knew fully that thousands of people went back and forth every night through the bridges and countless little boats that connected them to the mainland. “Just as I am sure that I'm far from the first foreign boy you've offered such an excursion to.”

“Mhmm. And I can assure you they all had a good time.” Max deposited his empty drink on the table, ice cubes rattling within.

“My uncle was shot at in Questers you know? I'd best not let the side down and at least sum up enough courage to cross a damn bridge.” He downed the rest of his cocktail and got up. “At them, then.”

The two men exited into the street, the night was stuffy, but not too warm that the combination of alcohol and their suits made them uncomfortable. The local tapped at his wrist, and within two minutes a cab had appeared. The men jumped in, laughing at some dumb joke, and begun their journey out of that tidy city, so carefully curated.

Superior Inspector Fila Parand looked over the strech of water separating Two from One, the lights in small ships blinked, sliding below the the buildings that never stopped. She turned away from the car, and with her deliberate walk marched over to the body, making a point to take in as much as she could. Inspector Spas stood laconically over their lifeless host, so she tapped him on the shoulder, “So who called it in?”

“The cleaning robot.” Not turning, he tipped his head off to the right, where a large, off-white, almost eggshell, machine stood immobile as an officer, barely higher than it, fiddled with a tablet.

“The new normative is only for these big industrial ones and mainly has to do with safety standards. Don't ask me for the specifics but its some horribly complicated formula factoring in obstructions, unexpected liquids or gasses, and lack of human supervision." Spas' large hand did a low sweep of the scene. "It encountered the body in what was supposed to be a clear area, the middle of the loading dock, and sent a workspace hazard alarm. It was still horribly early so the night guard called it in through the CCTV.”

“But...”

“They're meant to detect fires or oil spills, this is a nice bonus.”

"A bonus, I'm sure." Fila was assured that the need to detect gas leaks was secondary to the needs of people who didn't care about a fire or two.

"And before you ask, it does make sense that you haven't heard of this before. This is an experimental model, and the trial was being conducted with our friends from the Technical Branch, as you can see." Two uniformed individuals were speaking with a third, but while theirs bore the seal of the Alert Committee, his carried the same sharply stylized blue arrow displayed on the side of the machine.

"I'm sure the correct paperwork has been submitted accordingly. Now, have you managed to accomplish anything unrelated to vaccums?"

“Well we were thinking that it may have been a robbery gone wrong. Everything valuable and portable has been lifted. This poor boy is clearly out of his depth, one or five cocktails too many up the road. There's some bars about five hundred meters away.” Spas pointed east along the road that ran up to one of the many bridges connecting the city to the mainland.

“I've been. I'm of a half a mind that If it was up to me I'd shut them all down.”

“I think the fact that you've been in such bars disqualifies you from higher leadership."

“The Seventieth will have to wait for me yet, and I disagree it is as simple as you say.” She cut him off dryly, “unfortunately it may mean a lot more paperwork, but this feels too easy.”